


Only A Shimada

by MaskedBrunette (DrownedRedhead)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, blizzard lore can bite me, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 07:07:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18912010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrownedRedhead/pseuds/MaskedBrunette
Summary: Life and death situations make some things fall clearly into place, the last piece of a puzzle that takes your breath away.





	Only A Shimada

**Author's Note:**

> lame title for some shamelessness bc i like hanzo and no one can stop me also i don't know what to tag this so.

Hanzo isn't a heavy man but boy are you too tired for this, you think as you do your best to be silent while helping the nearly unconscious man into a blissfully empty room. With a sigh, you begin to search for things to blockade the door with. The day had started so well too, you reflect grumpily. Hanzo had woken you with breakfast, and you'd fucked like rabbits through most of the morning. It's your birthday after all.   
  
The trouble had started at lunch. Someone had recognised Hanzo as the oldest Shimada and had taken offense to his presence. After a small scuffle, you'd left the restaurant with Hanzo apologizing profusely for disrupting your birthday plans as the two of you made your way to the tram station. You'd only laughed and kissed him.   
  
And you were followed. You'd been cornered on your way back to the hotel. The two of you had fought, until you had to flee, then you'd ran until your legs burned and your chest felt so tight you thought your ribs might break. They'd found you again in this old warehouse, and in surprising you they'd managed to injure Hanzo. Anger and fear always did make you a better fighter.   
  
Which is how you find yourself shoving the last of the movable furniture in front of the door. You carefully prop Hanzo up against a partial wall, thankful you have a moment to finally tend to him. Your medical skills weren't great anymore, but you could patch him up at least.   
  
When you've done all you can, you sigh, resting your head against his chest gently. "We might die here," you whisper to him. "And I still haven't told you how much I truly love you."   
  
He mumbles something in Japanese and you're about to take a moment to try and puzzle through the slur of his voice when you hear the door shudder. Fuck. You look around frantically. You'd need to pry open the broken fire door behind and to your right. You didn't have anything left. Your energy was gone.   
  
You shift and sit beside Hanzo, gently wrapping his arm around your shoulders. You needed a miracle and this is all you can think of. Lucky for you, probably, you were a reasonably good archer. It's one of the first things that had drawn you to each other after all.   
  
You pick up his bow and knock an arrow, aiming for the door. You aren't even sure you can draw the damn thing with how weak you are right now but you had to. You manage it- barely- and turn your head to kiss the tattoo on his shoulder.   
  
"Please," you whisper, and let the arrow fly.   
  
You can feel it. The rush of energy, the glow of his tattoo under your surprised gaze, the heat and wind. It feels like electricity through your body, making you tremble and bite back a pained cry. You can't hear over the panicked hammering of your heart and you can't see through the bright spots in your vision. You can only hope.   
  
Nothing happens.   
  
Eventually you let out a heavy sigh and lever yourself to your feet. You'd give Hanzo a moment longer to rest as you struggle with the fire door. With a nearly deafening crunching sound, you manage to open the door and sigh with relief as cool air hits your face. You look around carefully and, seeing no one, you turn back to Hanzo. It's going to be a long trek back to the hotel.

 

The hotel clerk doesn't even bat an eye when you come in, hauling a half conscious Hanzo and looking like you've both rolled through a canyon. You're grateful for that. The kid just glances at the open door and goes back to his book. You manage to get down the hall and fish out your keycard from a pocket without anyone else around. Fumbling, you shove open the door and sigh with relief. The door swings closed behind you.

 

You don't remember getting to the bed. But you wake, face down and drooling a little, on the bed with Hanzo's heavy warmth beside you. You managed to kick your shoes off at least, but you're still clinging to the Storm Bow like your life depended on not letting it go. Hanzo hadn't taken it, which means he's not awake yet.

 

You sit up slowly, groaning as pain lances through..well, everything. You'd never been so sore in your entire fucking life. You have to physically pry your fingers open from around the bow with your other hand, biting right through your lower lip to stifle the sounds of pain. Setting the bow on the bed, you get up, glancing at Hanzo. Asleep and breathing evenly. Good.

 

You’re nearly sobbing by the time you work your hand and stiff muscles into a semblance of relaxed. You know it’s important to stretch after working your body like that but if it could be just a tad less painful, that'd be great.

 

You need a shower, too. A long, hot shower where you scrubbed until your skin felt like it was coming off. You rummage through your suitcases for clean clothes, finding some for Hanzo too. You certainly don't have the energy or strength to clean him yourself, but it’s the thought.

 

You check on him one last time- vitals seem fine and he's healing pretty well considering- before getting in the shower. You scrub and scrub until finally you feel like all the grime of fighting is gone. The heat is higher than you usually put it on but that forces your muscles to relax. If you were in any other state of mind, you imagine your thoughts would be racing about what had happened, but you're too numb still. When you feel almost human again, you turn the shower off and dry yourself, getting dressed quietly.

 

Hanzo still isn't awake. You decide to check the time before getting worried, and find that you've been asleep for only four hours. The sore pain must have woken you, you reason. You stretch a little more, check on Hanzo and re-administer what mild medical abilities you have. You make yourself something to eat, wander around the room a bit, stretch some more, then finally you sit beside Hanzo.

 

“You saved us,” you whisper, fingers hovering over his tattoo. It glows slightly, then fades when you gasp and draw your hand back. Then it clicks. Hanzo's dragons had made a decision you've been worrying over in the back of your mind for nearly a year now. You smile and set your hand against his chest, feeling his heartbeat and the warmth of his skin, the subtly raised edges of the tattoo. You lay against him, careful not to put too much pressure on him.

 

You must have fallen asleep because when you wake, Hanzo has his arms around you gently. You blink the sleep from your eyes and look over at him. He's awake, showered, and in the clothes you'd grabbed for him. The light outside the hotel window suggests you've slept through the evening to the next morning.

 

“How do you feel?” You ask him, sitting up a little to look him over. He looked much better, a little pale still and he'd likely be in pain another week or so, but his gaze is steady. “You've got a broken rib and a mild concussion, I think. It's been a long time since I've taken any medical courses, but I did what I could.” You're rambling. You know you are.

 

“I think you're correct. My head hurts and I can feel the rib, but I believe you saved me,” he says, smiling a little. Cheeky brat. You sigh in relief, wincing when you move a little too much. He frowns and pulls you against him. “Tell me what I missed,” he says and you know what he's asking is why you're not both dead. So you tell him. You'd downed your ambushers in a fit of panic, grabbed him, and hauled ass through the warehouse. And also the dragons thing.

 

He's quiet for a long time, just holding you and rubbing down your back absentmindedly. You aren't sure what to say, so you don't. The feel of his hand on your back and the sound of his even breaths almost lull you back to sleep.

 

“The dragons responded to you,” he says quietly, not quite a question. You nod, shifting to put your hand on his tattoo, feeling the inked skin heat up slightly under your touch.

 

“I figured, you know, because we could've died and all,” you say carefully. He considers.

 

“Perhaps,” he says finally.

 

You spend two weeks in the hotel, only about three days longer than intended, recovering and laying low in the hopes that nothing else will happen. It's nice, in its way, just being with him despite the underlying tension. He doesn't bring up the afternoon of your birthday until you're in your own home again.

 

The little place is perfectly sized for the both of you, but on the third floor. Hanzo's rib is still healing and you still feel a little sore in your legs and arm, so you take the dinky little elevator for the first time in a while.

 

Being  _ home _ feels like a weight of tonnes is lifted from your shoulders. You take a deep breath, feeling tension you hadn't known you'd been carrying melt away. Your legs feel watery, so you prop your suitcase against the sofa and fall into the cushions gratefully.

 

“Oh, Hanzo, I'm so glad to be home,” you sigh happily, holding out your arms to him. He chuckles and comes to you, setting his hands in yours. You squeeze his hands lightly, looking up at him.

 

“As am I,” he replies finally, leaning down a little and lifting your hands to kiss your wrists lightly. You blush a little and step closer.

 

“Hanzo? I've been thinking,” you start, trailing off. You weren't often shy, but your grasp of Japanese left much to be desired and it always embarrassed you a little. This was important though, and it was important to you to say in Japanese, to try to convey how truly you meant it. The culture difference between love and like had surprised you at first. English speakers were so easy with the word.

 

He waits quietly, letting you build up to it. “ _ Suki da _ ,” you manage finally, still a little uncertain you had chosen the correct phrase. His hands tighten around yours slightly. You've never told him you love him in Japanese before, but after nearly dying, it felt important now, to both of you. He leans forward to kiss your forehead.

 

“ _ Suki yo _ ,” he says, and you make a face at him. Just like him to correct you even now. Still, you smile and let go of his hands to slip your arms around his shoulders.

 

“After all that, it just feels important that you know how much I love you. I want to be with you, Hanzo,” you say, smiling up at him. “You mean the world to me.”

 

“I have been thinking as well,” he says, pausing to pull you over to the couch. You both sit, curled up together.

 

“What about?” You ask, pressing your cheek against his shoulder.

 

“The dragons. I'd..like to try something,” he replies, looking down at you. You hum, sitting back a little to look at him, studying his face. You think you know what he means, that he wants to see if they'll respond to you again.

 

“Sure,” you agree after a moment, smiling. “Not now though. Now is nap time.”

 

“That is fine by me,” he chuckles, wrapping his arms around you and laying back. It feels nice, pressed tight against him like this. A piece of you is still afraid, remembering the feeling of almost losing him, wondering if this is real. Feeling the warmth of his skin and hearing the slow beat of his heart keeps you grounded.

 

You sleep for a couple hours. Both of you are still in the last stages of recovering from your ordeal or Hanzo never would have been able to actually sleep during the day. You wake before him, listening to his even breaths and steady heart beat. You kiss his chest absently and take a moment to reminisce.

 

He was such a different man now than the Hanzo you'd first met, so much more at ease with himself. He'd been hurting, tearing up inside in a way you could only imagine, and he'd been reluctant to let you strike up a friendship. You had worried you'd driven him away from the archery range. But he came back. He'd helped you a bit, giving you a few tips to make drawing easier and steady your arms. He'd been impressed, you could see it in his eyes everytime he watched you shoot.

 

Then the range closed for a month, repairs after a rash of arson cases. He'd run into you, standing outside the building looking dejected. It wasn't the only archery range, but many of them shared space with gun ranges and the constant sound of gunshots did  _ not _ help you concentrate. And this was the one you knew Hanzo went to. He'd asked you to go to coffee with him, seemingly on a whim, right there in front of the charred door.

 

“What are you thinking about?” Hanzo asks gently, shaking you from your reverie.

 

“You.”

 

He blinks and laughs softly in surprise. “Really?” He asks, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “With such a dreamy look?”

 

“I was remembering,” you say, leaning your cheek into his hand. “That first time we went out to the little cafe down the street.”

 

“Ah, after those arson cases,” he says, nodding. “I was..so nervous.”

 

“Me too,” you laugh, sitting up carefully. “But it worked out well enough, right?”

 

“More than well enough,” he replies, sitting up as well. You sigh happily and stretch, humming when your back breaks audibly.

 

“Would you like to try your thing now?” You ask, looking over to him. He stretches as well, glancing at the time.

 

“Perhaps a meal first,” he suggests. You nod and grin a little. You're never going to turn down making dinner with him. He laughs softly and you both get up, heading into the kitchen.

 

You'd never really  _ enjoyed _ cooking until you started dating Hanzo. You didn't hate it, and sometimes it was fun to try new techniques or wacky recipes, but you'd never have said it was something you would enjoy doing in your free time. But cooking with Hanzo was different. The easy domesticity of it filled you with warmth, and Hanzo was very good at making sure you had fun. He'd quickly noticed that you love learning new things, and since then has strived to find new recipes and new dishes, new variations to old favourites, to help keep you engaged.

 

You both cook and eat quietly, content to simply enjoy each other's company. Being with him like this reminds you that you're still alive. You put the dishes away when you've finished before returning to Hanzo.

 

He's standing in the middle of the living room, looking thoughtful. You approach him quietly, letting him think. He turns to you and takes his shirt off. You hum appreciatively, grinning at him. He resists the urge to roll his eyes.

 

“I..don't know if this will work, now that we're not in danger,” you say, stepping closer and reaching out a hand to his chest hesitantly.

 

“We cannot know unless we try,” he says, parroting back at you something you say all the time. You stick your tongue out and sigh, pressing your hand flat against the largest area of his tattoo. You aren't sure what to do, but you can see the ink glowing dully. You take a deep breath and call to them, the simple request to come to you, please.

 

For a moment nothing happens. Then the light of his tattoo brightens, making you blink as spots dance in your vision. When you look around, the two dragons are there, as if awaiting a command. You've seen them before at this size, akin to a large dog, but knowing that they responded to you is exhilarating. They're beautiful, too, sleek and glowing gently. You look back to Hanzo, uncertain what to do now. He doesn't say anything, shrugging slightly. You're on your own then, to make your own authority.

 

You swallow and look at them, then hold out your hands. They come to you, resting their heads under your palms. You can't help but giggle softly, running your fingers over their heads. The gentle movement seems to give them permission to act casually, and one curls around your shoulders to press its cold snout against your cheek as the other wraps around your waist in what feels like a hug. It only lasts a moment before Hanzo says something and they dissipate.

 

“They..obeyed me,” you whisper, eyes wide. “Hanzo..”

 

“Marry me,” he says, sounding breathless. You look at him in silent surprise for a moment, then smile.

 

“Of course,” you say, kissing him gently. He pulls you close against him, holding you like he never wants to let go. You wrap your arms around him tightly. You don't want to let go either.


End file.
